This weekend was exactly what the doctor ordered: warm, bright, and sunny...the perfect time to relax at the Westboro Beach Club, sip margaritas, do some serious thinking, and brutalize Kevin O'Leary with crude insults over Twitter for fun; it was like a spiritual colonic.
The city was largely emptied of assholes - the Conservative leadership convention had drawn most of them to Toronto where after two and a half million rounds of voting Andrew "wait, him?" Scheer became the new leader of their party with a resounding 50-point-something percent of the vote. That he beat front-runner Maxime Bernier at the end was a bit of a surprise, though not as big a shock as the first ballot results. Brad Trost in fourth, ahead of Michael Chong? Boy golly are these people stupid. Trost insists his supporters were instructed to only rank he and fellow Leviticus-shill Pierre Lemieux on their ballot and then drop off, but I doubt that was the case and it sure looks like the body fascists and gay bashers are going to have a friend in the new leader.
All of which suits me just fine, to be honest. If they're going to keep picking these medieval throwbacks to run their party we're just going to have to keep kicking the shit out of them for it, and there are few things I enjoy more than a good Conservative stomping. Scheer's bizarre, debased interpretation of Sunny WaysTM leaves a lot to be desired and if the poor fool keeps smiling while talking about his mother's death he and his Bible-thumping supporters aren't going to be on the stage for very long.
The weather was even nice south of the border too, with the Trump family off of the continent on a whirlwind trip to the two or three countries that either don't hate him or can't say no. Melania even smiled once - while posing with the other G7 spouses for a photo in a room where surely her odious husband wasn't present.
Nothing good lasts forever though and just like a flash thunderstorm - Kaboom! The weekend was over and the disastrous trip was finished. The pictures coming out of the Vatican are like something out of Roman Polanski film, a real goddamned horror show. His Holiness seemed sick to his stomach the entire time but managed to avoid projectile vomiting (no doubt saving it for Callista Gingrich to arrive as Ambassador while her husband Newt sniffs out some Italian ass). The First Lady-turned-Hostage tapped out Morse-code messages to the outside world on her husband's probing hand while First Daughter Piper Perri tried to offload $10M in Ivanka handbags to the Roman Curia. The President himself was grinning like an idiot for the whole visit, no doubt daydreaming about what reward would await him at his future dacha when Moscow Center saw his performance at NATO and the G7.
Frankly, I'm surprised we're all still alive. I mean, we are probably well and truly fucked but I do take some comfort in watching a new Western order develop around Angela Merkel, Emmanuel Macron, and even our own Justin from Canada. Even so, we probably have to look to ourselves for solace, which is why I've been trying to spend so much time behind the drums, in the midnight gym, or on the beach.
I hear that NASA is planning to shoot a satellite at the Sun, which strikes me as a waste of precious engineering resources - surely it'd be more effective to send a manned mission, and I will volunteer in a heartbeat. Until then, I guess, we just have to stick it out.
